Six Degrees of Separation
by Lil black dog
Summary: Every K&S&M fan has their own reasoning behind the split of the big three at the end of the 5-year mission, something which bothered me for years. This is my humble attempt at explaining the inexplicable.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Every K&S&M fan has their own reasoning behind the split of the big three at the end of the 5-year mission, something which bothered me for years. This is my humble attempt at explaining the inexplicable. I suppose this could be read as slash, but it certainly wasn't written that way.

I don't know where I'd be without my support system – the lovely and talented Anna Amuse, and Verenna and T'Paya, whose comments during the very early draft of this helped to make it what it is.

**Six Degrees of Separation**

He found himself flat on his back for the third time in the last ten minutes, the air forced from his lungs with a decisive 'whoosh.' Drawing a careful breath, he looked up to meet worried brown eyes.

"You okay? I've never been able to throw you three times in a row since your first few classes."

"Sorry Hikaru, guess my mind just isn't on Jujitsu today." He reached for the proffered hand and allowed himself to be pulled to a seated position.

"Well, we'd better quit then Vince, before I wind up hurting you by accident." The _Enterprise's_ senior helmsman eyed him warily. "Let me guess, the last stage of the REFLEX training program? I understand this last year is the hardest by far. It's been a long haul for you. Any idea where you'll be assigned once we get back to Earth?"

Early on in the first year of the _Enterprise's_ mission, her captain and first officer came to the realization that for an XO to function properly, for him to truly be an asset to his CO, he had to have first-hand experience, first-hand knowledge with regard to all aspects of the ship and her various departments. As a Vulcan, Spock had been exposed to many disciplines starting at an early age, but most cadets, once they reached the Academy, only trained for a specific specialty after completing their required courses.

The two of them pitched an idea to Starfleet that officers who showed promise should use the five years in their starship duty to learn as much as possible with regard to the normal day-to-day operations of a ship of the fleet, and the Reserve Fleet Executive Officer Training Program was born. Command had decided that experimentally, one officer should be selected on board each of the twelve starships. Once their five-year missions were completed these twelve individuals could be assigned at a moment's notice as executive officers, wherever they were needed, giving Starfleet a talented pool of young officers to draw on. If they showed promise, this would become the normal career path to groom future executive officers. After much deliberation Lieutenant Vincent DeSalle had been chosen as the _Enterprise's _official representative, but her command team immediately saw the value in such training, and also saw to it that a number of the ship's junior officers received hands-on experience in several fields_._

DeSalle had spent his first year in the command track, serving as ship's navigator among other duties, followed by a rotation in engineering during year two, communications and security over the next two years, and finally in the sciences during this, the last year of the historic five-year mission.

The science rotation was scheduled for the last year because it involved so many different specialties: astrosciences, chemistry, biology, physics, the basics of medicine and psychology, and geology, the last portion of DeSalle's science training. While he had always had a knack for the sciences, especially biology, the geology rotation was proving to be quite challenging.

DeSalle climbed to his feet, draping an arm about the shorter man's shoulders. "No idea yet Hikaru my boy, although I've applied for both the _Columbia _and the _Revere_; unfortunately they may prove to be a little out of my league. It will depend on the recommendations I get from our senior department heads. And right now I'm not too sure about Mr. Spock's evaluation – this geology rotation is kicking my ass."

"How so?" Sulu asked, handing his sparring partner a towel and mopping at his own face.

"I've been assigned as lead geologist for the Elnath VI planet survey, and I must admit it's a more daunting task than I expected it to be." He paused, groping for words, as Sulu favored him with a knowing smile. "I've already got most of the data that's been collected so far analyzed and correlated, and I'll be gathering the last bits of information as part of tomorrow's landing party. I'm just not sure my presentation of the material is up to Mr. Spock's standards." He paused, running a hand through his hair. "It's due in just a few days."

"Don't worry about it. Mr. Spock can be intimidating at times, but if your data are good and the presentation is well-written, it shouldn't be a problem. So far, he's liked the reports you've done for the other science sections, right?"

"He seems to – as much as you can expect a Vulcan to show approval – and he's really been a great mentor so far – patient, knowledgeable, helpful, offering good suggestions and excellent guidance – but geology's just not my thing, and Mr. Spock's certainly not one to give you a good evaluation just because he likes you. He expects a certain level of expertise – justly so I might add – and I'm just not sure I can provide it. I'd hate for this to have a negative impact on my science rating for the REFLEX program."

Sulu chewed at his lower lip thoughtfully for a moment. "You know, I could read it over for you if you'd like," he offered hesitantly. "My previous specialty was astrophysics, but geology has always been a hobby of mine."

A grin split DeSalle's face. "_Everything's_ a hobby of yours, but it'd really be nice to have another opinion. This is my first solo project since my geology rotation began two months ago, and while LCDR Paternost has been a great help, I'd love to have someone look at it with fresh eyes."

"No sweat." The helmsman's smile was easy, relaxed. "Just gimme half an hour to shower and change and I'll meet you in Rec 3, okay?"

"Sounds great." DeSalle turned to leave, but stopped mid-step, turning back to the young Asian. "Thanks, Hikaru, I really appreciate it."

"No problem Vince." Mischief played about the dark eyes. "I'm doing this for me, too you know. There's nobody else on board, except for Mr. Spock of course, who's close enough to my level to spar with." He winked conspiratorially. "I need to get your mind back on track as soon as possible. See you in a few," the helmsman called over his shoulder.

***

**Captain's Log, stardate 7935.6. We are continuing our assessment of Elnath VI as per Starfleet's instructions. The Biology Department, in conjunction with the Geology Department, should finish their evaluations later today. The final landing party will be overseen by Science Officer Spock, and will also include myself, LT DeSalle as acting lead geologist, and biology specialists LTjg Burke and Ensign Velardo. So far, the findings are promising: We have identified several species of plants which Dr. McCoy believes show significant promise in the formulation of new medicines, and have also isolated three previously unknown minerals which should prove to be an asset to current Federation technology. We should be able to wrap things up here tomorrow. This will conclude our final assignment of the current five-year mission, at which time we will begin the two-week-long journey back to Earth where the **_**Enterprise**_** is scheduled to undergo a two-year refit to bring her up to current fleet standards.**

He switched off the recorder and glanced up into the face of his First Officer, who had left the upper tier of the bridge and was standing beside the command chair.

"Well Spock, once we complete this assignment we're done with our first mission. Any words of wisdom for the last five years?" Kirk's tone was teasing, baiting.

Spock played along, lifting an eyebrow, warmed by the answering grin it elicited from his captain. A pleasant warmth settled into the deeper areas of his consciousness as well. "None that I'm aware of, except, of course, to say that it has been a most fascinating venture," he offered blandly.

Kirk chuckled. "My sentiments exactly – it's been one helluva ride. Well unfortunately it isn't quite over yet; we still have to finish processing all the crew fitness reports before we return to Earth. We have a couple of hours yet before we need to report for landing party duty. Care to join me in Briefing Room Two? We can at least get a jump start on some of the more important ones."

"I shall be delighted, Captain," the Vulcan answered, mounting the steps and retrieving a stack of brightly colored tapes from the science console.

"Mr. Sulu, you have the conn," Kirk called as he stepped into the turbolift, his First a pace behind him.

***

They had been hard at work for over an hour now, Kirk having downed an entire carafe of coffee all by himself. They had already discussed the reports for the senior officers on board, as well as those for all three shifts of bridge personnel. The conversation had now moved to that of their REFLEX candidate.

"It seems we made an excellent choice when we selected DeSalle for this program. He excelled during his command rotation, and Scotty was so pleased with his progress during his time in engineering, he made him assistant chief engineer. That's high praise coming from Scotty, especially considering engineering wasn't the man's primary specialty," Kirk said, scanning the evaluations DeSalle had received from his immediate superiors in each of his REFLEX rotations.

"His performances were also exemplary in security and communications, as indicated by the comments received from LCDR Giotto and LT Uhura," Spock concurred.

"He was already a good officer five years ago, otherwise we'd never have chosen him for this position, but it's been a long time since I've had any personal experience working with the man. It's not that I don't trust my people but you know me, Spock – I like to lead by example. Delegation is certainly not my strong suit."

A ripple coursed through the link, what Spock knew Kirk had come to call the Vulcan's 'mind laughter.' His captain grinned in response.

"Far be it for me to argue with such an eloquently phrased statement, Captain." He paused, the amusement now fluttering behind his eyes. "If you are lamenting your lack of first-hand observation of the lieutenant's abilities over the last four years, there should be ample opportunity for you to closely analyze his work habits during today's landing party. That, coupled with the recommendations he received from his various department heads should suffice to add that personal element you are seeking for your report."

"In addition to serving as an XO, he'll also be eligible for promotion to lieutenant commander when we return to Earth. He has shown great potential, and I want to make sure I accurately reflect that in his fitness report. He's worked hard over the last five years, pushing himself well beyond our expectations, and I want to make sure that his dedication is properly rewarded." Kirk regarded the Vulcan thoughtfully. "Any idea where he's applied, Spock?"

"The lieutenant and I discussed his options several months ago. His inclination at that time was to obtain a posting to a Hermes-class vessel. Mr. DeSalle is a gifted officer in a number of areas, but has shown a particular aptitude for the sciences and engineering. Posting to a vessel of this type would allow for the best use of his unique talents."

But Kirk's eyes had gone vacant, no longer concentrating on his First's observations.

The Vulcan softened his gaze. "Jim, what is troubling you?"

Kirk's eyes suddenly came alive again, regarding the Vulcan with a touch of chagrin. "You know, sometimes this link can be a real pain in the ass." His tone was resigned, yet pulsated with amusement.

"Regardless of how I have come by the information, it is obvious that something is disturbing you." Spock waited patiently for an answer.

Kirk grinned at his First, but it faded quickly. "I received a communiqué from Command this morning. They've offered me a promotion to rear-admiral and a position as Chief of Starfleet Operations."

Spock felt time stop for a moment. "Have you made a decision yet?" The steadiness of his voice came as a complete surprise.

Kirk considered carefully before answering. "It'd be an honor – I'd be the youngest admiral in the fleet – but it's not what I want."

Spock found he was able to breathe again.

"I'm not a desk jockey. That kind of job would drive me nuts in six months, a year at the outside. I belong out here, among the stars. Ever since I was a little kid it's where I've always wanted to be." His gaze locked with the Vulcan's. "Besides," he added softly, "There're just too many fine officers I've come to know over the years. I've watched the bridge crew, Chekov especially, grow up and mature right before my very eyes. I'd be crazy not to jump at the chance to serve with each and every one of them again. And they won't be offered desk jobs. Neither will McCoy…or you."

He paused, favoring the Vulcan with an affectionate glance. "How about you, Spock? You haven't told me your plans yet."

"Precisely because at the moment, I am undecided as to the course of my career."

"Really? How so?"

"I too have received a transmission from Starfleet. I have been offered the captaincy of the science vessel _Gagarin_." He watched as a disconcerted frown flitted briefly over his captain's features. "However, as you are already aware, I have no desire—"

"For a command of your own," Kirk finished, visibly brightening.

"There is always the possibility of returning to Vulcan as well. A standing offer for a teaching position at the Vulcan Science Academy has been kept open for me for the last five point four years. It had been hoped I would resign my commission at the end of Captain Pike's tenure as commanding officer of the _Enterprise_ and return home."

"Well, I for one am glad you didn't." Kirk paused, his look wistful, contemplative. "What do you want, Spock?" There was no expectation present in his tone; it was simply a request for information.

"Actually Jim, in all honesty, my decision will be contingent upon yours. If you seek another command, I would be honored to serve as your First Officer, should you desire my services again in that position. As I indicated earlier on the bridge, this has been a most fascinating venture. I have learned much, both in the capacity of a Starfleet Officer, and about myself. It is my wish for the exploration to continue, on both fronts."

"My thoughts, exactly, but you knew that already, didn't you?" Spock felt warmth and affection gently envelop him. He responded in kind.

Kirk's face hardened slightly. "I know Command wants to promote me so they can parade me through the streets, use me as a recruiting tool for Starfleet, but I don't believe that's where my destiny lies. Men don't make a difference in the galaxy operating from behind a desk. It's from the bridge of a starship that real, meaningful change is made, alternatives and possibilities explored, new avenues of thinking opened up. This is where I need to be if I'm to make a difference, be a positive force for the Federation, and I'd be foolish not to want you at my side.

"It shall be my privilege, Jim. Now all that remains is to convince Command to assign you another five-year mission."

"Leave that to me." The hazel eyes sparkled with the challenge. "I've already started to formulate a plan."

They were interrupted by the squawk of the intercom. "Kirk here," the captain answered, thumbing the switch.

"Uhura, Captain. Sorry to disturb you sir, but the landing party is ready to go; they're just waiting for you and Mr. Spock."

Kirk glanced sharply at the Vulcan, who colored slightly.

_How did I possibly lose track of the time?_ Spock thought to himself.

"Sorry Lieutenant, we got caught up working on the fitreps. Let the transporter room know we'll be there shortly."

"Aye sir. Bridge out."

Spock had already risen to his feet, gathering the scattered tapes from the desk. "Shall we?" Kirk asked, bowing Spock toward the door.

***

Elnath VI was a marvel of nature. They materialized in a valley between two oversized earthen slopes covered in lush vegetation, the hills rising gracefully toward the sky. They were the foothills of a much larger mountain chain that stretched as far as the eye could see. Not the stark, barren, towering peaks of a young mountain range but the gentle, rounded, weathered slopes that indicated this range had been subjected to millions of years of exposure to the elements. A dense, primordial forest, thick with massive trees, rimmed the edge of their location, marching decisively up the sides and across the tops of the rock face, forming a thick carpet of green over the uneven terrain.

A crystal blue pond was visible several hundred meters in the distance, sunlight refracting off the ripples created by a large flock of native water fowl paddling lazily along its surface, individuals dipping below the water occasionally to emerge with a tasty morsel.

Kirk inhaled deeply. The air was fresh and clean, untainted by the trappings of civilization. He reveled in the feel of the sun as it beat warmly against his shoulders. Yes, this is what it was all about; their reason for being out here. In addition to the abundance of unique scientific finds on this planet, it would also make a suitable home for colonists from a dozen different Federation worlds. Standing in this little clearing, he understood fully that this was his purpose in life, and he would do whatever it took to see that purpose fulfilled.

"Sir. Tricorder readings indicate a large patch of Bonderil plants located .42 kilometers south of here," Burke reported crisply. He was the lead biologist for this landing party. "They belong to the same genus of vegetation that Dr. McCoy felt showed so much potential. Scans also reveal a variety of previously uncatalogued flora close to the same location."

"Okay, you and Velardo go check it out. We'll rendezvous here in ninety minutes. Mr. DeSalle," he called over his shoulder at the young officer who was currently engrossed in readings on his tricorder, "is the surrounding area suitable for your survey, or have you found somewhere better?"

"Negative, sir. There are quite a few geologic oddities in the vicinity," he said, his eyes sweeping the scene before him. "Should be quite enough here to occupy me for the next hour and a half, Captain." He grinned sheepishly at his CO.

Kirk returned the smile briefly. "All right gentlemen, you have your orders," he said, nodding at the two junior biologists, "we'll see you back here soon."

The two scientists set off at a leisurely pace, Burke identifying interesting flora and fauna and Velardo pausing to load specimen after specimen into his collection kit as they made their way to their destination.

Spock had approached and was waiting patiently at his captain's shoulder. Kirk turned to him with a questioning look.

"Sir, if you can assist Mr. DeSalle I should like to do a more thorough examination of the lake. Preliminary tricorder scans indicate a number of as yet unidentified species, including the water fowl currently flocking on its surface."

"I tend to be all thumbs in these types of situations, but I'll do my best if Mr. DeSalle thinks he can manage with what passes for my help," Kirk commented, turning a wry grin on the lieutenant.

"It'd be my privilege, sir. There's an interesting geologic reading at the base of that hill over there," he said, gesturing over Kirk's shoulder to a nearly vertical section of the nearest slope which was devoid of any plant life.

"Then lead the way, Mr. DeSalle. Mr. Spock, we'll meet you back here in ninety minutes."

Spock shot his captain a self-satisfied look before turning and heading for the lake.

"Sir, I'm now detecting an underground opening in that cliff face. Readings show a variety of known and unknown ores within. It might be worth checking it out." DeSalle shot his captain a speculative look.

"This is your party, Mr. DeSalle; lead on," Kirk responded, falling in a step behind the lieutenant.

***

What they discovered was not a true cave per se, but a cleft in the side of the stone wall, formed most likely due to seismic activity rather than erosion over millions of years. Unlike the mountains above, the interior was not weathered, the broken angles of the walls and ceiling sharp and defined with none of the traditional formations such as stalactites or stalagmites present, indicating this was a relatively new structure given the age of the surrounding rock. The fissure stretched for two hundred meters or so, starting off as a narrow passageway, the space opening up to reveal a vaulted ceiling over a roughly elliptical chamber forty meters into the side of the large hill.

DeSalle fished in his pack, producing a small hand-held LED light which he switched on, illuminating the scene before them. Water flowed freely down the sides of the chamber and dripped from the roof, small rivulets evident in some places. The ground beneath their feet was uneven, shards of rock pushing up from the earthen floor like spring flowers poking through the snow to reach the warmth of the returning sun.

"I'm showing a large deposit of duranium twelve point seven meters in the distance, captain, and several as yet unidentified ores. We should take some samples, sir."

Kirk started toward him, the specimen kit in hand, but suddenly DeSalle turned, beginning to shout something, when the world broke before their very eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Forgot to mention before, this does tie in somewhat to 'His Last Breath' and 'Learning Curve.' Reading those first would be helpful but not necessary.

**Chapter 2**

"DeSalle?"

Just the sound of rubble settling, the dust still hanging thickly in the air, obscuring most of the weak light flooding in from the entrance. The lieutenant's light lay on the ground, pointing toward the back of the opening, reflecting eerily off the substantial cloud kicked up by the falling rock, hindering the captain's ability to assess the severity of the cave-in.

"DeSalle! Are you all right?!" Still no answer.

Kirk quickly scanned the scene before him. His communicator lay just out of reach a few meters away to his side, and he could barely make out the lieutenant's form sprawled face-up several body lengths in front of him. Coughing the fine, powdery grit from his lungs, he was trying to formulate a plan when he heard a low groan emanating from the floor in front of him.

"DeSalle! Can you hear me? Are you all right?"

"Sir?" Weak, unsure. "I can't see you. Where are you?"

"A few meters behind you. Can you stand?"

"No sir; I can't feel my legs." His voice was beginning to fade.

"DeSalle. Stay with me." He kept his voice calm, steady. "Do you have your communicator? I can't reach mine – my leg's trapped under a rock. We can call the ship, or at least contact the rest of the landing party."

His inquiry was met with silence. Rapidly running out of options, he closed his eyes, concentrating on opening the link. _Spock,_ he called silently. _Help us, Spock! I need you. Hurry!_ he tried to send to his friend, his brow damp with the effort required to project their dire situation to his First.

***

Spock was squatting on his haunches, studying a six-legged amphibian when he was hit by a mental firestorm, the force almost causing him to topple over. Jim! Something was wrong with Jim. As usual, there were no words between them; that came only with the physical contact of a meld. But he could sense Kirk's pain, his urgency, his great need for help.

He set off at a fast trot, allowing the link to act as a homing device, the slender mental thread leading him unerringly to his captain, his friend.

Without breaking stride he reached for his communicator, flipping it open with a snap of his wrist. "LT Burke, come in."

"_Burke_ _here_ _sir,"_ came the quick reply.

"The captain and Mr. DeSalle have experienced an as yet unidentified accident and are in need of assistance. You and ensign Velardo are to report to me immediately."

"_Yes, sir." _Spock could hear him shouting for his companion in the background. "_We've got a fix on your communicator signal sir, and we'll get to your location as soon as possible."_

***

"Over here, Spock!" Kirk called as the Vulcan entered the chamber at a run. "Contact the ship; arrange for immediate beam-out, have a medical team standing by."

"Unfortunately Captain, we are currently experiencing some difficulty with the transporter. Fifteen minutes ago engineer Scott reported a phase transducer coil burn-out. According to his estimation it will take approximately forty-five minutes to install the replacement component," he said, dropping to one knee beside Kirk.

"Check DeSalle, he's hurt a lot worse than me."

Quickly surveying the situation Spock could see his captain's leg was pinned beneath a large rock. DeSalle lay on his back on the cave floor several meters away.

"I've been trying to keep him talking but he keeps drifting in and out of consciousness."

"What happened, Captain?" Spock asked, crossing the distance to the injured crewman.

"His tricorder registered some unusual minerals in here. We were preparing to take samples when a section of the roof gave way unexpectedly." A pause. "How is he, Spock?"

"His injuries are quite severe," Spock commented as he surveyed the man's wounds with his tricorder, frowning at the readings registered there. The lieutenant's eyes fluttered and opened. Spock started to ask him something but the words were swallowed up by a harsh grating sound that echoed forcefully throughout the chamber.

"Take DeSalle out of here, Spock. Get him outside before the whole ceiling comes down on us. That's an order."

"No sir!" DeSalle's voice was weak, breathy. "I'm dead anyway. At least you still have a chance at life." His breath came in short, painful gasps, a wound on the side of his neck bleeding steadily. The Vulcan applied gentle pressure to the gaping hole, noting with concern DeSalle's pallid complexion, the blood-soaked blue tunic and his lower-than-normal body temperature. The man was right – even with aid, he only had a few minutes to live.

"Don't argue with me Lieutenant! I'll be the judge of that." He shifted his gaze to the Vulcan. "Spock, go on, get moving."

But Spock was uncharacteristically still, the dilemma playing openly over his features, looking first at one man and then the other.

"Mr. Spock, don't." DeSalle grabbed weakly at the wrist on his throat with bloody fingers. "It's all my fault. I wasn't able to warn the captain fast enough to keep him from being hurt. Sir, please." His tone was plaintive. "There's no hope for me. Help the captain instead."

"Shut up DeSalle! Spock, don't question me on this! Do it! Now mister!"

The Vulcan turned his attention once again to the lieutenant. A fleeting, thin smile graced the young man's features. "Please sir, I'd never forgive myself if the captain died, too because of my error."

Spock nodded his assent, closing his eyes briefly, his brow furrowing in concentration as he placed a compassionate hand on the man's shoulder. Training his gaze once again on DeSalle's face he watched with satisfaction as the man's features, once distorted with pain, relaxed considerably. "Lieutenant," he said softly, "keep pressure here," he instructed, placing the young officer's palm over the wound in his throat. "I shall get the captain to safety and then return for you."

"Okay sir. And thank you." DeSalle favored him with a wan smile, closing his eyes in relief.

Spock rose to his feet making his way over to Kirk.

"I ordered you to get DeSalle out of here mister!" The hazel eyes were flashing even in the subdued light.

"Jim, I cannot." Spock lowered his voice to barely a whisper, stretching out the tricorder to his CO. "He is—"

At that moment the walls let out an ominous moan, an answering groan issuing from Kirk as the boulder on his pinned leg shifted. Small particles of debris rained down on them from above. His captain was pale, shocky, his forehead bathed in sweat, eyes and lips compressed tightly as he fought to ride out the sudden wave of pain.

The tricorder slipped from his hands, forgotten, as Spock worked to free Kirk's trapped limb. The captain cried out, his head lolling back against the wall of the cave.

_Good, _Spock thought. _It will be better this way. _Kirk being unconscious would make the task at hand a little easier to bear. Another strong heave and the large rock gave way. Spock quickly assessed the damage. Judging by the dark stain spreading over his captain's uniform pants, the leg was broken – an open fracture just below the knee. He bent and with supreme gentleness lifted Kirk, cradling the unconscious form against his chest.

"Mr. DeSalle?" he called softly.

"Sir?" Almost inaudible.

"I shall return as quickly as possible for you." He started for the light one hundred meters in the distance.

"Okay sir, I promise I won't go anywhere." The attempt at humor was swiftly eclipsed as a gurgling sound began to issue from DeSalle's throat.

Spock raced for the exit, dodging falling rocks and the chunks of rubble littering the floor as he went, despite the burden clutched in his arms.

Bursting out into the sunlight, he propped Kirk against a tree, the fresh air causing the captain to come around slightly.

"Spock?" he called weakly.

"Here, Captain."

"Where's DeSalle?"

"I am going to retrieve him now." Spock ran for the mouth of the cave, but at that instant the entire ceiling gave way, completely sealing the entrance, a small bit of flying debris grazing the Vulcan's head, forcing him to his knees.

Spock glanced back at his captain, who was staring at the mouth of the cave, a look of abject horror on his face. "God damn it!" The blazing hazel eyes snapped to his. "What's wrong with you?! You just let that man die!"

"If I hadn't acted as I did, it would have been you." Quiet; eyes downcast, haunted.

"I ordered you to save him, not me!"

"I'm sor—; I regret that I was unable to carry out your order, Captain."

Spock turned away suddenly, suffocating in the crush of conflicting emotions: Profound relief that Jim was safe; that he still lived. Interspersed with unimaginable sorrow that he had let another man die; a man with whom he had had a close working relationship over the past year. At the age of eighteen when he had opted for a career in Starfleet he had steeled himself for the day when men would die under his command. DeSalle was certainly not the first one, but never before had he been faced with the immediate choice of the life of a close friend or the life of a crewman. It had been a spontaneous, visceral choice, made the instant he realized a cave-in was imminent and without conscious thought. Looking back, he was utterly stunned by the swiftness and resolve with which the decision had been made. He came to know it's what he would have done even if DeSalle had not urged him to do so, or had the man's injuries been less severe. It had happened; that about which his father had warned him had finally come to pass. This friendship, this bond of brotherhood which for Spock had come to signify everything good in his life, had in one irretrievable instant become distorted, twisted, morphing into something evil, destructive, a harmful presence.

And it had finally cost someone his life.

He suddenly felt weak, nauseas, dizzy, his breath now coming in short, painful gasps, fighting the urge to retch, despair grappling to his horror with elation. He stole a glance at his captain, his friend, who was still propped against the tree, pounding the ground at his side with his fist, shaking with fury, eyes glued to the spot where the opening leading to DeSalle had been moments before. Spock's gut twisting with self-loathing he looked away, unable to bear witness to such utter helplessness.

Struggling to his feet he began moving the stones blocking the entrance, one by one, pausing only briefly to wipe the blood trickling into his eye with his sleeve. He worked at this steadily, single-mindedly for several minutes before he became aware that other hands were helping him to clear the rubble. It was Burke and Velardo, who had finally located them and were now assisting him. In the background he could hear Kirk, no doubt using a communicator he had borrowed from one of the scientists, in a heated conversation with the chief engineer, demanding that he get the transporter working as soon as possible and instructing him to have the bridge search the interior of the cave with the ship's sensors for any sign of life.

It took a few moments for it to register that Velardo was asking him a question. "Mr. Spock, I've got my phaser. Do you want me to just vaporize the rockslide, sir?"

"Negative Ensign. Since we are unsure of the stability of the structure or the extent of the collapse, we may only succeed in bringing down more of the roof. There is a chance the chamber containing lieutenant DeSalle did not suffer the same catastrophic damage."

"No, there isn't." Three heads snapped to their CO. "I just received word from the bridge. There is no longer an open chamber near this entrance, and no life signs have been detected from the interior of the cave, just a body. You can stop digging, gentlemen." Kirk's voice was tight yet calm, controlled, but Spock could sense unmistakable anger reverberating throughout the link.

Rising to his feet the Vulcan stepped away momentarily from the rest of the landing party, the contradictory emotions threatening once again to overwhelm him.

***

Having composed himself, he made his way over to Kirk, the man now white as a sheet. Blood was starting to pool on the ground beneath his right knee.

Kneeling beside his captain, he spoke softly to Burke.

"Lieutenant, may I please have the strap from your tricorder?"

"Of course, sir," Burke answered immediately, hurrying to comply with his XO's request, even if he didn't understand the reason.

Velardo was standing several meters away, also very pale, his breathing shallow, rapid. He was very young, having been assigned to the crew only a few months before. This was the first time he had been a member of a landing party.

"Mr. Velardo," Spock called quietly, "I shall need a stick, approximately fifteen centimeters in length and at least two centimeters in diameter. Are you able to comply?"

"Y-yes, sir," came the hesitant reply as the ensign began visually scanning the ground before him.

Spock proceeded to wrap the tricorder strap around Kirk's thigh several times, avoiding his captain's pointed stare.

"Now I get it," Burke chimed in. "You're making a tourniquet, and you'll use the stick Velardo is searching for to tighten it."

"Precisely."

Kirk remained silent, but Spock could feel the anger buffeting him like a gale-force wind within the confines of the link. An undercurrent of white-hot pain was also present. He reached out a hand, but Kirk batted it away.

"I'm fine Mr. Spock, don't bother," Kirk said derisively.

Burke looked from one to the other of his senior officers, completely nonplussed by that exchange.

Velardo approached, squatting beside the XO. "Here Mr. Spock, will this work?" he asked, placing a short, stubby stick into the Vulcan's hand.

"That will be more than sufficient. Thank you, ensign," he intoned, slipping the stick beneath the strap and twisting it in an effort to compress the tissue below.

Kirk continued to regard him with disdain; he found himself unable to bear the intense scrutiny.

"Mr. Burke."

"Sir?" The lieutenant dropped instantly to Spock's side.

"If you can maintain pressure on this tourniquet, I shall contact engineer Scott and determine the status of the repairs to the transporter."

"Aye sir," came the quick response, the biologist reaching for the makeshift ligature.

Spock relinquished his hold, rising to his feet and moving several meters away.

"Spock to _Enterprise_," he said, raising the open communicator to his lips.

"Enterprise, _Scott_ _here_," the chief engineer answered smartly.

"The captain is injured and in need of prompt medical attention." He stopped, trying to quell the unevenness to his voice. "What is the status of the transporter?"

"_My lads are installing the replacement part now. It should be operational in about ten minutes."_

"Very good Mr. Scott. Have a medical team standing by and notify me when the repairs are complete. Spock out." He snapped the device closed, replacing it on his hip.

"Mr. Spock, sir?" It was Velardo, the man tugging at his sleeve, his eyes wide. "The captain has lost consciousness."

Spock returned swiftly to his captain's side. "He has gone into shock." Spock bent, gathering Kirk into his arms once again. There was nothing else he could do, except offer his captain his body heat and wait for Mr. Scott's call. He pressed his burden tightly to his chest.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Spock, what happened?" McCoy asked, helping the Vulcan ease Kirk onto the gurney, the captain's right leg swinging unnaturally below the knee, sprinkling the floor of the transporter room with small clumps of congealed blood.

"Cave-in. His leg was trapped under a boulder."

McCoy was cutting Kirk's uniform pants away from the wound, the white, jagged end of bone glistening through the mangled skin, his medical scanner appearing in the doctor's hand as the last scraps of cloth fell away. Quickly surveying the injury he realized Jim was not in any immediate danger despite the blood loss. After pressing a hypo to the captain's arm, he began grousing at the orderlies stationed on either side of the gurney.

"Well, c'mon you two, don't just stand there, get him to sickbay stat," he said gruffly, gesturing to the doors of the transporter room.

***

Once in sickbay, McCoy wasted no time transferring Kirk to the nearest diagnostic bed, the panel springing to life above the captain's head. Pumping his CO full of another dose of something from his hypo he swung his gaze to the Vulcan, noticing at last the large, seeping gash over the first officer's left eye.

"Spock that's a nasty cut. I'll have Dr. M'Benga check it out for you." He paused, as if he'd just realized something. "I'm not sure how many people were in the landing party. Is everyone else okay?"

"No. We suffered one casualty – Mr. DeSalle." Startled, McCoy snapped his eyes to Kirk, who had regained consciousness and propped himself up on his elbows on the bed. "Courtesy of Mr. Spock." Kirk's eyes flashed with barely restrained anger.

McCoy felt his blood run cold. _What on Earth happened down there? _"Jim, surely you don't mean that?" His gaze had traveled to the Vulcan who was studying his boots, hands balled into fists at his sides, his breathing quick, raspy.

"I most certainly do. Isn't that right Science Officer?" He glared openly at the Vulcan. "What do you have to say for yourself?" Kirk's voice was low, rough, the rage seething dangerously just below the surface.

McCoy could only stare mutely at the first officer as he began speaking. "There was no hope for Lieutenant DeSalle; his injuries were too severe, but your survival was guaranteed as long as I was able to remove you from the cave." Raising his head he met the captain's eyes squarely, defiantly to McCoy's point of view, the hands now clasped firmly behind his back.

"You don't know that for sure – you're not a doctor!" Stoic calm followed on the heels of that accusation. "I _ordered _you to help him, and you disobeyed that order, and now he's dead." Finally, the Vulcan glanced away.

"Jim, take it easy," McCoy admonished. The hypo made a third appearance.

"Get the hell out of here. I can't stand the sight of you." Kirk's gaze slithered away from his First, the captain settling himself back down onto the bed, fixing his eyes on the ceiling above him. Spock hesitated for just a moment, then turned on his heel, preparing to leave.

McCoy's hand on the Vulcan's arm stopped his forward momentum. "Hold it, Spock. You need to have that head wound checked." He lowered his voice considerably. "Don't pay any attention to that," he said, inclining his head toward the biobed. "Jim's obviously not himself," he tried to reassure the Vulcan, his mind still reeling, unable to comprehend the exchange he had just heard. Spock gently but purposefully extricated himself from the doctor's grasp.

"Let's get that laceration taken care of while I fix Jim's leg." Worried blue eyes searched the Vulcan's face. "We'll get this sorted out later," he said soothingly. Slowly Spock's gaze drifted to his, and McCoy was unprepared for what he saw briefly in the usually expressionless eyes. Unmitigated, bitter regret, coupled with shame and utter relief at the same time. Jim had always been the one who could read the Vulcan like an open book, but there was no mistaking the emotions registering there in that unguarded moment.

"Spock!" McCoy reached out to grasp the arm again, surprised that it was trembling slightly. Almost instantly, the mask closed over the XO's features, his eyes going blank, his face carved in stone. Without shifting his gaze from the Vulcan, the doctor raised his voice ever-so-slightly.

"Christine?"

"Yes Doctor?" the nurse answered, looking up from her ministrations to the minor cuts and contusions on her CO's face. "Page Dr. M'Benga, and take Mr. Spock into the other exam room. Start him on some neuvocephalexin and get that wound cleaned up so M'Benga can evaluate it when he gets here."

"Yes, sir." She turned to the Vulcan. "Mr. Spock will you come with me please?"

McCoy released his hold on the Vulcan's arm and Spock turned without another word, following the nurse out of the room.

Glancing back down at his patient, he could see the sedative had worked, his captain's eyes closed once again. Satisfied with that result, he set about removing the tourniquet and cleaning the wound in preparation for surgery.

***

"Okay nurse, you want to fill me in on Spock's condition?" They had just finished over three hours of labor-intensive surgery to repair Kirk's shattered leg bones and were getting the captain settled into a biobed. Christine was rolling the portable bone knitter over, placing it in position above Kirk's injured leg. Until now, McCoy had had no time to spare a thought for the XO's status. He began programming the machine as Christine started to speak.

"Well, after I finished cleaning Mr. Spock's injury, Dr. M'Benga did a thorough examination and sealed the wound. He said there was no head trauma, just a severe laceration, and gave Mr. Spock a clean bill of health. Mr. Spock then mentioned he was reporting to the bridge and would await word from you there on the captain's status."

"I see." The CMO's eyes were distracted, unfocused, his hand frozen on the controls.

She searched his face, concern registering on her own. "I really expected Mr. Spock to stop in and check on the captain, or at least call long before—"

"Thank you nurse," the doctor interrupted. "That will be all."

A look of confusion replaced the concern on Chapel's face, but she turned and left without a word.

Having coded in the proper settings on the bone knitter he crossed to the desk, depressing the intercom switch. "McCoy to bridge."

"_Bridge, Spock here."_

"Spock if you don't mind, I'd like to see you in my office."

"_I shall be there presently, Doctor."_

***

McCoy was waiting for him when he entered the main ward of Sickbay. Spock glanced at the doctor, a question in eyes which swirled with worry for a split-second. He headed for the other room where he knew his captain lay, but the doctor stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"He's okay Spock. I've treated him for shock, and despite how things looked the blood loss was minimal." He favored the Vulcan with a grudging look of approval. "That tourniquet probably saved his life. Nice work, Spock."

The Vulcan nodded imperceptibly.

"I've repaired the leg, and he's heavily sedated at the moment, but he's not the reason I called you here – at least not as far as discussing his injuries go."

"All I require at this time is to know the captain's status. If his condition is stable and he is in no danger, then I shall return to the bridge." He made a move toward the door.

"The hell you will!" The force of McCoy's words stopped him in his tracks. He turned eyes that were once again opaque to the physician.

McCoy softened his tone considerably. "C'mon Spock, we need to talk. I'd prefer to do so in private," he finished, gesturing to the door to his office.

***

"All right Spock, you wanna fill me in as to the meaning behind that scene I witnessed earlier?" The blue eyes showed a desperation, an urgency Spock had seldom seen before.

"Merely a difference of opinion between myself and the captain." Spock and the doctor had slipped into chairs on opposite sides of McCoy's desk, Spock relaxed, calm, fingers steepled before him, McCoy agitated, tense, on the edge of his seat. "He and lieutenant DeSalle were involved in a partial collapse of a cave they were exploring. When I arrived neither was ambulatory and I could only carry one man to safety at a time. The captain insisted that I assist lieutenant DeSalle, but he was unaware of the severity of the lieutenant's condition. Based on my observations of the injuries both men had sustained, and given the instability of the structure, I elected to remove the captain first, contrary to his wishes. The remainder of the chamber collapsed before I was able to retrieve Mr. DeSalle. The captain has taken exception to that decision."

"Yeah, I'll say." McCoy paused thoughtfully. "Then let's start with DeSalle's injuries. Do you have the tricorder readings?"

"Negative. In my haste to free the captain's trapped appendage, I was forced to discard my tricorder. Unfortunately, I presume it was destroyed in the subsequent cave-in."

"I see. We were able to recover the body but it was crushed almost beyond recognition when the roof gave way. Despite what Jim thinks, I find it hard to believe that your evaluation of the lieutenant's condition was that far off. Care to elaborate?"

Spock closed his eyes briefly, dropping his hands to his lap, a slight tremor running through him. He began speaking in soft, measured tones.

"When I first approached, I noted the lieutenant was unusually pale, a cold sweat standing out on his forehead. Upon closer inspection I observed that he was impaled on a 25 centimeter-long shard of rock which had perforated his upper abdomen just below the ribcage on his right side."

"Sounds like it missed his heart but probably lacerated his liver and/or a kidney. That would account for the paleness."

"Tricorder readings confirmed that diagnosis. There was also a significant gash in his right thigh, which was bleeding profusely. He had another wound on his neck, not as deep as the other but also bleeding freely, and there was evidence of a crushing injury to his pelvis. His breathing was rapid and shallow, a broken rib having punctured a lung. A pink froth was beginning to form on his lips when I arrived." He stopped abruptly, unable to continue.

"It's okay Spock, I don't need to hear any more." The doctor turned his compassionate gaze on the Vulcan. "You made the right decision, and I'll make sure Jim knows that's my expert medical opinion."

Spock's eyes were haunted. McCoy wasn't sure if it was due to the images he'd been forced to remember, or his next words.

"Thank you, Dr. McCoy but unfortunately I do not believe it will carry significant weight in this situation, at least not at present." The Vulcan sighed softly.

"I know what you mean, Spock. Jim hates to lose anyone under his command."

"I am fully aware of the captain's feelings of guilt associated with the death of a member of the crew, but this goes well beyond the scope of such a loss."

"I'm with you on that one. You know the captain – he likes to be in control at all times." McCoy scrubbed at his chin thoughtfully. "Jim certainly has no qualms when it comes to his questioning of authority, but he absolutely cannot stand to have his own authority questioned. And that's exactly what you did. Had no one died, he'd have gotten over it by now, but since DeSalle didn't make it it's just sticking in his craw. He didn't have control over the situation; still worse, it was you who usurped that control, and therefore he's blaming you since things went south." He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Give him a day or two Spock. By then he'll be able to see things a little more clearly. If there's one thing I've come to know about Jim over the years, it's that even though his first impression of something is often the impulsive, emotional one, with time, he can view almost any given situation rationally."

"Agreed."

"It's not like Jim to not trust your judgment, Spock. I'm sure he'll come around."

Spock pondered that. To his mind, this sudden unexplained lack of trust indicated something deeper. It was an area he did not wish to explore in detail. He addressed McCoy once again.

"When will I be able to see him, Doctor?" Rife with uncertainty.

McCoy cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Probably not for a few days yet Spock. Give Jim a day or so to work things out for himself, come to grips with DeSalle's death, okay? Besides," he continued, "I'm planning on keeping him heavily sedated for the next forty-eight hours. I do want that leg to heal straight, after all, and we both know what a difficult patient our captain can be at times." He traded a long-suffering glance with Spock, followed by a reassuring grin.

The Vulcan dropped his eyes to his lap, a curt nod his only answer.

"Don't worry, Spock. We'll work this out. You and Jim will work this out. We've been through much worse, right?" he said with more confidence than he felt.

With that, Spock rose swiftly to his feet. "If that is all, Doctor, my presence is required on the bridge."

***

"Nurse," he called weakly.

Chapel spun on her heel, startled. "Sir, what are you doing awake? Dr. McCoy gave you enough sedation to keep you under for at least a few more hours." She had come to stand beside Kirk's biobed, a frown of consternation wrinkling her brow.

"It would seem he miscalculated the proper dosage." Kirk's eyes were alert, scanning the premises, showing little effect of the drug whatsoever. He threw back the covers, making a motion to rise to his feet.

Chapel pressed a hand to his shoulder, attempting to restrain the man. "Captain, you can't get up. We finished surgery on you a little over twelve hours ago to repair a severely broken leg. Standing on it now could cause irreparable damage. The doctor realigned the bone fragments and closed the flesh wound, but the bone knitter is still working on fusing the pieces back together," she said, indicating the device hovering above his right knee. "Is there something you need, sir? I'd be more than happy to get it for you." Her smile was warm, genuine, comforting.

"Yes. You can bring me Dr. McCoy so we can get this mess cleared up, he can discharge me and I can get back to running my ship." Authoritative; his tone not demanding but commanding.

"Of course, sir. The doctor's in his office. I'll get him for you right away, but you have to promise me you won't get up and try to walk while I'm gone. I'll not have you undoing the doctor's hours of surgery on your leg. You'll stay put, right Captain?"

How could he possibly deny that request when she was so open, so trusting? "I'll be here when you get back – you have my word, nurse Chapel."

"Okay, sir. I'll just be a minute." She hurried from the room.

_Wow. She must really feel the need to talk to McCoy in private, otherwise she'd just have called him in here on the intercom. Am I really that difficult of a patient, or are things worse than she's letting on?_

He heard the shuffle of footsteps in the next room, McCoy materializing suddenly in the doorway.

"Jim, what're you doing up? I gave you enough sedation to put out an Andorian bull for at least a day." He scowled at the captain, scanning the readings on the diagnostic panel above and fiddling with the settings on the bone knitter.

"Apparently, I have the constitution of a Capellan power cat," Kirk responded wryly.

"Yeah, I forgot. In your case I should have set the hypo for pig-headed starship captain. My mistake." McCoy smiled wanly, the look rapidly replaced with concern. "You didn't stand on the leg, did you?" Despite the readings visible overhead, the doctor was scanning the limb with his Feinberger.

"No, nurse Chapel saw to that," Kirk answered, slightly dejected. "It seems your staff is well-trained."

"Yeah, well, she assisted me on the surgery so she had a pretty good idea just how bad things were. Both lower bones were broken in several places just proximal to your knee. Things were really a mess in there, Jim and I'd have been more than a little ticked off if you'd screwed that up again before the bones had a chance to fuse properly." McCoy crossed his arms over his chest, fixing Kirk with a pointed stare. "Christine told me you want to be discharged. Well, you can just forget about that. You're not going anywhere for at least a few days, so you might as well get used to the change of scenery."

"How long have I been out?"

"It's nine thirty-eight in the ship's morning, so at least fifteen hours, counting the three hours of surgery time.

Kirk chewed his lip thoughtfully. "Do I really need to be here for the next few days, Bones? I'd like to have a memorial service for lieutenant DeSalle." A shadow passed over his face.

"Spock's already got that under control, Jim," McCoy offered helpfully. "It's scheduled for eighteen hundred today. And don't even ask me about going – those bone fragments are still floating around loose in there. Any unnecessary movement could knock them out of alignment. "

"If he'd listened to me, it wouldn't have to have been scheduled at all." The reply was explosive.

"No, we'd be having one for both of you, instead." Full of derision. McCoy softened his voice, resting a hand on the captain's forearm. "Spock saved your life, Jim; you have no right to be angry with him for that."

"At the expense of DeSalle's."

"Oh for God's sake Jim, I don't believe that for an instant, and neither do you, really."

Kirk's face went dark, blank, and McCoy made a motion to speak when they were interrupted by a commotion in the main diagnostic area.

"Somebody help us, please!"

"Stay put, Jim. I mean it. I'll be right back." McCoy rushed from the room.

Kirk could hear muted voices and low moans emanating from the other room, Christine's soft voice now mixed in with the others, switching from soothing when dealing with the injured crewman to crisp and professional when responding to McCoy's requests. From what he could gather from the snippets of conversation that floated in to him, there had been an accident on the hangar deck, crewman Johnson receiving a minor burn to his hand. McCoy returned a few minutes later.

"Everything all right? How bad was the burn?"

McCoy shot him a suspicious look. "You don't miss a thing, do you Jim?"

"Not where my crew's concerned." He put on his best command face, waiting for a reply.

McCoy sighed heavily. "One of the baffle plates was coming loose on the Galileo, so Johnson and Gruver were using a laser welder to repair it, when Johnson's grip slipped and his hand passed into the beam for a second before specialist Gruver was able to shut the contraption off. Thank God he was wearing protective gloves, or he'd have lost his hand. As it were, part of the glove around where the beam hit it was fused to his skin. I already removed the burnt part and sealed the wound. It should be as good as new in a few days.

"Just like your leg," he added segueing into his CMO lecture mode, "as long as you listen to your friendly country doctor and stay off it for the next thirty-six hours." He added a stern glare, waggling a finger at his CO just for good measure.

"Okay, I get the message loud and clear. I'll stay in bed, scout's honor. But now that I'm awake I'm starving. Surely breakfast is permitted?"

McCoy did a double-take. "Don't you ever think of anything besides food, Jim?"

Kirk smiled a roguish smile, and McCoy colored slightly.

"Yeah, I guess you do at that, but food's the only thing I can help you with at the moment. I've got to get back to work, but I'll send nurse Chapel to the galley to get you something. "Christine?" the doctor called, disappearing around the corner.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

He melted into the warmth and subdued lighting of his cabin, the familiarity a soothing balm for emotions much closer to the surface than usual. It had been a most distressing evening. Although he had been very careful not to let others see it, the memorial for lieutenant DeSalle had affected him more deeply than he cared to admit.

Collapsing into his wooden Vulcan chair, he steepled trembling fingers, pressing them to his lips. _Control! I must regain control!_

The service had gone well, at least on the surface. He'd learned a thing or two in the last few years and had reached an understanding of sorts as to how humans expressed their grief and what he needed to do and say to help assuage that grief. The ship's chapel had been packed to the rafters, with crew members standing shoulder to shoulder in the back, the throng of mourners spilling out the doors and down the corridor.

The service had been piped throughout the ship for those who were unable to attend, and there hadn't been a dry eye in the room – with the exception of his, of course – when Sulu finished his eulogy. He had spoken on DeSalle's behalf as well, as had the other department heads who had nurtured and trained the lieutenant over the last five years. Mr. Scott seemed to take the loss particularly hard, and a steady stream of tears had coursed down lieutenant Uhura's cheeks the whole time she spoke. Spock hadn't realized until that very moment what a popular member of the crew he had been. A number of personnel had come up to him afterwards, expressing their personal loss and sharing stories of how DeSalle had reached out to them over the years, or done something kind or thoughtful to help them, both personally and professionally.

And that epitomized the essence of DeSalle. He had been a very unassuming man, quiet, reserved, often hovering well below sensor range, but touching people in profound and unique ways nonetheless.

His death was a tremendous loss, for all the crew. A death that was ultimately on his hands.

Outwardly, he had shown nothing but reserve, the Vulcan mask of non-emotion firmly in place, but inside his mind had been reeling. Had he truly made the right decision? Had Jim been correct in his accusation of dereliction of duty? Could the man have been saved if Spock had acted as his captain wished?

His thoughts now turned to the events of yesterday in sickbay. Jim had been angry with him in the past, furious at times in fact, but he'd never exhibited such naked loathing. Spock found himself unable to control the shaking that permeated his thin frame.

Jim was disgusted with him, almost as disgusted as he was with himself.

He rose purposefully to his feet, a few long, measured strides bringing him before his meditation statue. Sinking to his knees, he began the ritual chant designed to prepare him to enter the first level of calm. It proved ineffectual however, the events surrounding DeSalle's death playing over and over in his mind.

Yes, he had disobeyed his captain, his friend, but Jim had been unable to logically evaluate the situation. Had he seen DeSalle's injuries for himself, or the readings on Spock's tricorder, he would know without a doubt that Spock had acted correctly.

There was that word again – logically. He had been trained all his life to think thus, and had done so in the cave. But his human half whispered assertively to him, assuring him that had things been different, in this case it would have easily defeated his logical, practical, unemotional side.

In the heat of the moment he had made the logical choice and it just so happened that it corresponded with the emotional one. This time he had been fortunate, but what if next time, the logical and emotional choices were diametrically opposed? What would he do; what would he choose? It was that answer that sent icy spikes of fear into his heart.

And he couldn't face that.

His mind wandered to the numerous other times his captain's life had been in danger, and though he had stubbornly refused to acknowledge it, his human half had won in each of those instances as well. For the most part, it had always been his own life he was willing to sacrifice to ensure Jim's continued survival, but there had also been a handful of times where the decisions he made put others, in some cases the entire crew of the ship, at risk. He realized at that moment just how many times he had tempted fate and won; how very lucky he had been in the past, no longer able to deny it, even to himself. No, the ends do not justify the means, but until this incident, the means had never cost someone his life.

Intellectually he knew it really hadn't in this case, either, but the realization came home to him with electrifying force of just how much he was willing to sacrifice, how far he was willing to go for this man he called friend, brother, whose presence in his life meant more to him than he had ever imagined someone could.

This must end; he must put a stop to it here and now, before someone's life truly was forfeit. And yet, his human half argued, he did not want it to end. Humans, even Vulcans, were willing to make unimaginable sacrifices for family members. Why should he be so different? Why should he be faulted for something others did without question?

_Because you are a Vulcan,_ his practical side argued. _We are not governed by the whims and questionable impulses of emotion. The choices we make, whether for those closest to us or for complete strangers, even in the most extreme cases, are driven by logic, nothing more. _Could he be sure he would always make the logical choice over the emotional one?

_No,_ came the surprising answer. _Not where this particular human is concerned._

And therein lay the problem. But they only had a few weeks left on their mission; surely he could complete his assignment and then perhaps accept one of the other options open to him. In this way he could prevent future incidents where he might be faced with such a choice.

And yet he knew with undeniable certainty that his human half would not allow that separation. He did not wish to leave Jim and yet he must, for both their sakes. If Jim asked it of him he would stay without question. And that left only one solution – he must return to his planet and study with the masters at Gol in an effort to purge these destructive emotions once and for all from his being. Even Jim had said it once: "Love, you're better off without it."

And it seemed he was right.

***

Since the meditation had proven ineffectual and sleep was out of the question, he had intended to go to the observation deck, but was surprised to find himself outside the doors to sickbay instead. It was well into the ship's night; neither McCoy nor Chapel would be on duty at this hour. His presence here would remain undetected.

He slipped silently through the doors. No one was in sight, but he could hear one of the technicians busying himself with something in the lab. The main room was well-lit, but the other ward was dim, marking the early morning hours in deference to the patients who usually filled the beds. Unable to stop himself, he stepped quietly into the darkened room, his eyes coming to rest on the sleeping form of his CO.

The face was calm, relaxed, somehow appearing younger, vulnerable in sleep. A far cry from the sheer anger that had etched it the last time he and the captain had spoken. Had that only been yesterday? It seemed like an eternity since that face had gazed at him with affection, friendship, trust.

He moved to stand beside the bed, the protectiveness he felt for this man surging to the fore once again. It only served to strengthen his resolve. If he did not leave now, leave soon, he never would. He had no doubt that Jim would eventually forgive him, would come to understand and accept the true nature of what had transpired in the cave, and that was the crux of the issue. He had been right to question Spock's motives. He would not understand that it was already too late for Spock; that at this point in their friendship the Vulcan would do whatever was necessary to keep his captain from harm, no matter the cost. Jim would forgive him and ask him to stay – a request he would be unable to deny. And somewhere down the line that decision would prove disastrous, for both of them.

He must see to it that Jim's anger did not diminish before he had a chance to carry out his plan. It would be difficult, but it was necessary, for both their sakes.

"Goodbye Jim," he whispered softly, loss and grief playing openly over his features in the subdued light and complete seclusion of the nearly empty ward. Tearing his eyes from his friend he turned on his heel, headed for his quarters – his last refuge.

***

Everything was proceeding on schedule. He had sent several messages over the last few days, the final response having arrived a few minutes ago. Now it was just a matter of executing his carefully crafted plan.

He was disturbed by the sound of the buzzer to his cabin. And it was his captain, judging by the impatience with which it was being rung.

"Come," he called softly.

Kirk entered in a flurry of motion which certainly didn't testify to the fact that he'd suffered a severely broken leg only two days before, charging toward the desk where his First was seated.

Spock made a motion to rise, but Kirk dismissed it with the wave of a hand. Coming to stand before the desk he regarded the Vulcan, his stern look a curious mixture of expectation, admonishment and yet somehow warmth all at the same time. He opened his mouth to speak, but changing his mind, he turned it into a soft smile.

"Mind if I sit down?" his captain asked quietly.

"Please," Spock said, indicating the empty chair.

"I heard the service you had for DeSalle," Kirk began hesitantly. "You've come a long way from that man who didn't know the proper words to say on Taurus II – and it showed. It was a service befitting what the lieutenant meant to this ship and her crew."

Spock acknowledged the compliment with a slight nod of his head, an uneasy silence falling between them.

Kirk pursed his lips and the Vulcan could see him carefully considering his next move.

Spock took it upon himself to jump start the conversation. "How is the leg, Captain? Healed I trust?"

Relief played over the tense features, a wry grin stealing across his face.

"Must be better, otherwise Attila the Hun would never have discharged me. I still get the occasional twinge, and McCoy said no workouts for at least a week, but it seems to be on the mend." A beat. "But you'd know that already if you'd come to see me even once while I was confined to sickbay."

Spock remained unmoved by that not-so-tactful accusation, choosing not to respond. Kirk's look shifted. "However, I'm not here to discuss my leg, Mr. Spock. I think we both know what this is about."

"Explain," came the calm response.

Kirk's face darkened momentarily. "Actually, I think _I'm _the one who should be asking that question. Care to fill me in on your actions of a few days ago?"

"To which actions exactly are you referring, Captain?"

Kirk ran a hand through his hair, licking his lips. "Good God, Spock, do I have to spell it out for you?" A discouraged sigh escaped from compressed lips as he graced the Vulcan with eyes heavy with frustration. "I thought we'd gotten beyond the literal stage of things ages ago."

"If you are referring to my actions on Elnath VI, no explanation is necessary."

"Maybe to your mind, but do me a favor and humor me, okay? I'm still not clear on a few things."

"On which parts do you require elucidation, sir?"

Kirk's patience was beginning to wear thin. "On the part where you disobeyed my direct order, mister," he snapped.

"Ah yes, the order given under duress?" Spock's face remained totally impassive. "The one in which you ordered me to ignore standard protocol and rescue a crewman who had no hope for survival in favor of offering assistance to the one whose continued existence was assured?"

"Yes. That would be the one," Kirk ground out slowly.

"I am unsure what it is you wish me to explain, sir? I merely acted as duty demanded, making the logical, rational choice as the situation dictated."

"Don't give me any of that crap Science Officer! I distinctly remember what you said outside the cave right after the collapse." A pause, his tone much gentler now. "I sensed your worry, your concern through the link." He stopped, pinning the Vulcan with an accusatory stare. Softly. "You made that choice because of what we are to each other, what we mean to each other, didn't you?" He was flushed, breathing heavily now. "And if you did, I can't live with that, knowing that another forfeited his life for mine."

Spock regarded him with utter calm. "No sir, you are incorrect. I would not be entirely truthful if I said your statement did not have some merit, but the decision was made because I carefully evaluated events as they were unfolding. Lieutenant DeSalle had suffered multiple traumas. He was bleeding out Captain, from more places than I had hands available to staunch the flow of blood, and had suffered serious internal injuries. Even had I successfully removed him from the cave before the collapse, he would not have survived until help arrived."

"I find that a little hard to swallow." The tension once again mounting between them.

"Sir, if that is how you truly feel, then it has become clear to me that I will no longer be able to serve as your First Officer. Without trust between the command team, it will be unable to function efficiently, putting the ship and her crew at risk. If you so desire it, I shall resign in this capacity effective immediately," Spock responded stiffly. 

"You know what, Spock – don't go all Vulcan on me here, okay? I thought we were past that." Kirk inhaled deeply, releasing the breath slowly. He settled his gaze squarely on his First, striving for an openness he didn't feel. "I do trust you, it's just that it was such a waste for DeSalle to die. He had such promise, and we only have a few weeks left in our mission." His face clouded suddenly. "I had hoped I was done losing men."

A flicker of compassion passed over the Vulcan's face. Gently. "I am in complete agreement with you, sir – there is never a 'right time' or 'right circumstance' to suffer such a loss, but had I carried out your orders as instructed, we would have been faced with two casualties, not one."

Kirk looked at him sharply at that. "Again, my point is you're not a doctor, and don't know that for sure."

"He was impaled, Captain, the spike penetrating his upper abdomen. Moving him would have entailed considerable risk of further internal hemorrhaging."

"I know I was a few meters away from him, but things didn't look that bad to me. You could have at least given him a chance." His doubt showed openly.

"Hence the sticking point. You claim to trust me, to believe that my judgment is sound, and yet you still see fit to question me on this." An eyebrow raised defiantly, his dark gaze penetrating.

"Spock, DeSalle is dead – I say the words and I can still hardly believe them – and while nothing can change that, frankly I expected to see a little more remorse, a little more compassion on your part. I can understand the cool, calm detachment you displayed at the memorial service, but this is _me _Spock. I thought you'd at least be comfortable talking with me about his loss. Hell, they started this XO program based on our recommendation, and he was our protégé. As head of the Science Department, you worked closely with him for the last year. You mean to tell me you feel nothing?"

Spock visibly bristled at the comment. "What I feel is irrelevant, and will not change the fact that the lieutenant is dead." The dark eyes were inexplicably cold, detached. "If I recall, it was you who said I should decide for myself how I handled my emotions, and with whom I chose to share them." Haughtily.

Kirk rose swiftly to his feet. "And it's obvious that despite our friendship, despite all that is between us, you choose not to share them with me. It seems we still have an issue with trust, on both our parts." A few quick steps brought him to the door. He turned briefly. "I'm afraid we both still have a lot to think over." And with that, he was gone.

_That is where you are wrong, Jim, for I have already thought things through. And I have arrived at the best, most practical solution, for both of us. I am already hopelessly lost, but I will not be responsible for your demise as well. _For all his purported Vulcan mores and tight emotional control, Spock was shocked to find that as he glanced up at the retreating gold back, a single tear traced its way down his cheek.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"For God's sake Jim, don't you think you've punished him enough?"

McCoy had stopped by Kirk's quarters, ostensibly to check the progress on his leg, the scanner whirring over his shin, but that question had set off all kinds of alarms, putting Kirk on the defensive almost as if he'd just raised a personal set of deflector shields.

The doctor, apparently satisfied with the readings, seated himself opposite Kirk at the captain's desk, the blue eyes intense, waiting none-too-patiently for an answer.

"I haven't even begun yet Bones."

"Christ, Captain, the man made a command decision. He chose who should live and who should die – a decision you yourself have made quite a few times. How can you possibly fault him for that?"

"It wasn't his decision to make, it was mine."

"Based on what? You were pinned, unable to assess the lieutenant's injuries. From what Spock told me, I don't think there's much that could have been done for DeSalle anyway."

"We don't know that for sure, Bones. And besides, that's not the point. Spock had his orders, and chose not to carry them out." Stubbornly, almost petulantly.

"Well, I examined the body and I can assure you that the cause of death was exsanguination, which bears out Spock's assessment of the situation," the doctor stated with certainty.

"Can you tell me when? The exact moment he bled to death? Was it before or after he was crushed by the ceiling caving in on him? Burke and Velardo arrived within minutes of the collapse. It's possible that with their help, Spock could have kept DeSalle alive until Scotty got the transporter working." Kirk had jumped to his feet, moving a few steps away from the doctor.

"Coulda, woulda, shoulda. You're grasping at straws." McCoy shook his head in disbelief. "It's called _triage_ Captain. Evaluate the injuries and make the effort to save the people who have a chance to live. I'm pretty sure they taught that in the basic survival training class at the Academy." The words had a sardonic edge to them.

Kirk spun on his heel. "Spock says there was no chance – but what if he was wrong, Bones? What if he did this solely because the choice was between my life or DeSalle's?"

"Am I hearing this right? Are you questioning the walking data base's judgment," his eyes narrowed suddenly as another idea occurred to him, "or are you calling Spock a liar, Jim?"

No response to that accusation, just a chin lifted defiantly, arms crossed contentiously across his chest.

"C'mon Jim, you heard the man at the memorial service. I didn't think he had it in him, but he genuinely seemed to care. Maybe it wasn't the most passionate speech someone ever gave at a wake, but the personal element was certainly there. Hell, for Spock, it was practically an emotional outburst of epic proportions. It was obvious to anyone listening that he liked and respected the lieutenant."

"I heard him all right, but was it a sense of loss…or guilt…that moved him?" Kirk had reseated himself across from McCoy, searching the doctor's face with uncertainty.

"Okay, if that's really how you see it – and frankly I have my doubts, in this case at least – know this Captain: I warned you months ago that a situation like this might arise, but you wouldn't listen to me. That this unique bond between the two of you could lead to something like this – on either of your parts. But no, you think you can handle anything, just by sheer force of will. If Jim Kirk wants it to be so, then it'll be so. Unfortunately, now you've found out the hard way that you can't. And instead of taking it out on yourself, or at least holding yourself accountable for your part in this, you're putting all the blame squarely on Spock." A pause. Quietly. "That's not fair Jim and you know it."

"DeSalle is dead! It should have been me." Forceful, adamant; the words clipped, squeezed out through clenched teeth. "I'm sure his family won't see that as fair."

"Jim, do you even understand what it was you asked of him? I know you hate to lose any member of your crew, but Spock's a Vulcan – life, any life, is sacred to them. If you think he made this choice easily, without remorse, then I'm not sure I know you anymore." A beat. "Or if I even want to. Whether he made the right decision or not, he'll beat himself up for this death. That stiff-necked lunkhead will be sure there was some 'logical alternative' he overlooked that would have made it possible to save you both. Right now he needs your compassion, not your condemnation."

In the face of Kirk's continued silence, McCoy took a deep breath, gathering himself. "I'm not even sure what I would have done, if I'd had to make that choice. And Spock has opted for your life over others before. Starting with his father. He was gonna let Sarek die rather than disappoint you, or let you risk your life by assuming command. Can you even begin to imagine what it cost him to make a choice like that? And that was over three years ago. Yes, the potential is there, as I have stated repeatedly, but from what I've heard – and if there's one thing in this universe that's a constant, it's that Spock isn't inherently dishonest – I don't believe for an instant he sacrificed DeSalle for you. But this is something you two need to discuss, need to address, before one of you is finally faced with a decision like that."

Kirk remained unmoved in his resolve. "I gave him a direct order and he chose to disobey it. His choice, not mine. And because of that choice, I have to write a letter to that man's family, offering my condolences on their loss; a loss that never should have happened."

"Yeah, you can definitely say that; hold him to a higher standard than you hold yourself." The doctor's look was full of recrimination. "You've never disobeyed an order in your life, right?" Dripping with sarcasm.

Silence, Kirk stroking his lower lip, dropping his gaze from the CMO's intense glare.

"Put yourself in Spock's shoes. If the choice had been yours, between his life or DeSalle's, what would you have done? Would it have mattered to you in the least what Spock wanted? Ask yourself that, before you continue to berate him for something that deep down you know could not have had any other outcome. Ask yourself that, and then go look him in the eye and tell him he was wrong."

Kirk sighed heavily and McCoy softened his tone, grasping the younger man's forearm, forcing the captain to meet his eyes. "In the last five years, has Spock ever given you reason to doubt his word?" Kirk looked away, but not before McCoy saw the uncertainty return briefly. "What it all comes down to is this: You have always trusted him without question, instinctively. What does your gut tell you now? You have to figure out for yourself what's true here. Do you believe him or not? Yes or no? And how you handle things from here on out will depend on the answer to that question."

***

Kirk lay in bed, unable to sleep, this conversation playing over and over in his head. McCoy had been right. In spite of their special bond, Spock had never given Kirk reason to doubt him before; had never openly lied to him about any given situation. True, they each had their secrets, but they had always been honest with each other about the things that mattered the most.

He was appalled by his actions over the last couple of days. Only a few short years ago he'd promised Spock he'd always be there for him and now when Spock needed him the most he'd abandoned him. Worse, he'd called the Vulcan's character into question. He found himself drowning in shame.

He had to talk to Spock right away; to apologize for doubting him. They could work through this. They'd always been able to resolve their differences in the past. He glanced at his chronometer. It was 3:23 AM. Throwing back the covers, he pushed himself to a seated position, activating the terminal located on the shelf above his bunk.

He buzzed his First Officer's quarters, sure that Spock wasn't sleeping either, despite the fact that the link between them had gone dead. No answer.

A blinking light at the bottom left of the screen indicated he had a priority message in his queue. A shiver of fear passed through him, and he opened it with more than a little trepidation.

His mouth went suddenly dry as he realized it was a formal letter of resignation from his First Officer, already sent to Command and approved twelve hours ago, his being a forwarded courtesy copy only.

He bounded for the door to his cabin, completely oblivious to the stares of crewmen who were startled to see their captain in the corridor in nothing but his regulation briefs.

Swallowing his panic, he buzzed the door to Spock's quarters. Again, no answer. He tried to enter, but the door was locked. Spock _never_ locked his door – a testament to the trust he placed in his fellow crewmen. Using his command override, the door slid open at his bidding. Unsure of what he would find, he entered the Vulcan's quarters haltingly, hesitantly. It was pitch dark inside; even Spock's asenoi, which he kept burning constantly, had apparently gone out.

"Spock?" he called uncertainly into the blackness as the door closed with a whoosh behind him. His inquiry was met with only silence.

"Lights, thirty percent," he said softly. The sight that met his eyes brought him to his knees. The room was completely empty; not only of its occupant, but of any personal effects that had reflected the individuality of its one-time inhabitant. Gone were the blood red curtains; the Vulcan lyre; the 3D chess set that had graced the shelf behind his First's desk; the ancient Vulcan weapons that had recently adorned the walls, and the rack of Vulcan bells that had figured so prominently in the Koon-ut-kal-if-fee ceremony. Even the lighting had been returned to the harsh white of Earth normal in favor of Vulcan muted red.

He reached for the link between them, trying desperately to open it, to sense even a whisper of the Vulcan's consciousness, but found only blackness, emptiness. He was utterly alone, for the first time in over two years. _What have I done?_ His soul screamed in inconsolable anguish.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but when he came to his senses he found himself curled into a ball, lying on the floor of his First Officer's empty quarters.

He struggled to his feet, chilled; the temperature control had been turned off. Another bitter reminder that the man who used to occupy this cabin was gone for good.

He scrubbed at sore, puffy eyes with balled fists, his gaze coming to rest on what used to be Spock's desk. It was barren, like the room he currently found himself in, except for a small envelope lying precisely in its middle. Crossing to the desk, he saw his name on the front in the Vulcan's sure, neat hand.

He reached for the letter with fingers that weren't trembling due to the cold, turning it over several times in his hands, unwilling to open it, convinced he would be unable to face the words written there. He stared at it blankly as time stretched interminably, before carefully sliding the contents from their sleeve. His breath catching painfully in his throat, his heart pounding in his chest, suddenly sweating in the below-normal temperature of the room, he began to read:

_Captain,  
_

_It is with the utmost respect and sincere remorse that I wish to apologize to you for my unconscionable actions. While in my right mind, I have never willfully disobeyed a direct order from you. Until now._

_In light of this development, I have decided to become an acolyte at Gol and undergo the ritual of Kolinahr in an effort to once and for all purge my human half, my emotional side, from my being. Lieutenant Desalle's death has only succeeded in proving to me that this side of my personality, if left unchecked, has the potential to be destructive, dangerous to those around me. I was being accurate when I stated that his injuries were too severe for him to survive, yet I have come to understand that my choice would have been the same, regardless of the Lieutenant's condition. And this type of transgression is currently beyond the scope of my ability to control. I cannot allow myself to put others at risk, even if it is to preserve your existence.__  
__  
You told me once, with unwavering confidence I might add, that I should attempt to successfully blend the two halves of my psyche. Tragically, this attempt has been a complete failure. Thankfully, it has only cost one life; the human toll could have been so much higher. But it is a price I shall have to answer for for the rest of my life.  
_

_I regret having failed you in this endeavor; that the trust you placed in me was misguided; that I was unable to live up to your expectations; that I am flawed. Removing this volatile side of my personality, burying it once and for all will hopefully alleviate the problem, and at least allow me to be a productive contributor to Vulcan society, far removed from those whose lives I have endangered._

_I wish to thank you for the friendship you offered me, and to inform you that I am deeply sorry for not being able to properly appreciate this gift you had given me. It is my sincere wish that you live long and prosper, an undertaking which should prove feasible for you to attain now that I have removed my deleterious presence from your life. I shall always honor thee, Jim, and appreciate the fact that I once called you friend.__  
__Most humbly,_

_Spock_

He collapsed into the chair, his head striking the desk with considerable force as the breath was sucked out of him, almost as if he'd been exposed to the frigid, unforgiving vacuum of space.

***

He came instantly awake, the anguish in that whispered tone carrying over despite the mechanical sound imparted by the intercom.

"Jim?"

Silence.

"Is that you?"

No answer, just labored breathing on the other end.

"Are you hurt?" He struggled to quell the rising panic. "Where are you?"

"Spock's quarters," came the broken reply.

"Is _he_ hurt?" No words, just the ragged, hitched breaths once again. "Damn it Jim, what's wrong?"

"Bones, what have I done?"

"Don't move, either of you. I'll be right there." Snatching his medikit from the shelf above his bed, he rushed out of his room, the second senior officer to be wandering the corridors this night in nothing but his Starfleet issue blacks.

***

McCoy burst into the First Officer's quarters, out of breath, only to find the ship's captain slumped over the desk. Rushing to his side, it took a moment for the changes to register.

"Holy shit Jim, where's all of Spock's stuff?" Anger flashed in the blue eyes, reflected in the timber of his voice. "What'd you do – bust him back to ensign and kick him out of his quarters?" He eyed Kirk accusingly, but was completely taken aback when the hazel eyes lifted to his, red-rimmed, bloodshot, swimming with tears that stubbornly refused to fall. Kirk tried to speak, but though his jaw worked with the effort, no words came forth. By way of explanation he simply handed the CMO the letter crumpled in his fist.

McCoy grabbed it, smoothed it out and began to read, his sense of unease increasing with each new paragraph. When he was done, he could only stare mutely at his CO.

Kirk had found his voice. "It's all my fault Bones. I did this to him. I promised him I'd always be there for him; help him to understand, make sense of his human half, but when push came to shove I couldn't deliver. I abandoned him, berated him for the actions of his human half, just like everyone else in his life did." A sob caught painfully in his throat and he dropped his head onto his hands, folded on the desk below him.

McCoy found himself torn between wanting to throttle the man and console him. He wound up laying a hand on the shaking shoulders. "Yes, you were too hard on him in my opinion, but Spock's partly to blame as well. He can handle reprimands coolly, calmly, logically from anyone but you. Criticism from you has always cut him to the bone." McCoy straightened up, running a hand through his hair, pacing a few steps away from the desk. "Christ! You two are just unbelievable. For two men who need each other as much as you two do, you sure have a knack for saying the wrong thing to each other." He came over and knelt beside Kirk's chair. "Jim," much softer now. "Where _is_ Spock? You two need to talk this thing through right away, before irreparable damage is done to your friendship, and before Spock makes a life-altering decision that he'll probably come to regret. I don't know what the hell Kolinahr is, but I already don't like the sound of it."

"I don't know where he is Bones." Kirk's voice was utterly defeated.

"Whaddya mean, you don't know? Can't you use that link thing between you and find him?" McCoy was genuinely shocked.

"It's gone dead. I can't feel him at all anymore." Kirk's tone was as bleak, as forlorn as McCoy had ever heard it.

"Well then, we'll have to resort to conventional methods and have him paged." He stood, reaching for the intercom switch.

A hand snaked out, grabbing his arm before the doctor could complete the impulse.

"It's no use Bones. He's already gone."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Trust me, I know." The eyes were empty, bereft. "I'll never see him again."

"For crying out loud Jim, we're out in the middle of nowhere. It's not like he had the option to beam down to a Starbase or something. He's gotta still be on board somewhere, we just need to find him before—"

"He left via long-range shuttle an hour and a half ago. I confirmed it with security ten minutes ago."

"That son of a bitch," McCoy muttered to himself. He turned to Kirk, his eyes blazing. "You know, I always expected him to run from me. Hell, I spent the last five years trying his patience in the worst way." He shook his head in dismay. "But I always thought you'd stand behind him, no matter what." Softly. "And apparently so did he." McCoy's voice shook ever so slightly. "You're right Jim – what have you done? If someone had told me, I'd never have believed you capable of this. You – of all the people in the universe – managed to drive Spock away. That's some feat, Captain. I hope you're happy with it." The doctor turned on his heel and left without another word.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: When I was essentially done with this story I heard two songs that seemed to sum up the events of the split quite well: 'Against All Odds' by Phil Collins, which I see as Kirk's thoughts immediately after he reads Spock's letter, and 'Afterglow' by Genesis, indicating Kirk's feelings several months after returning to Earth. Yeah, I know, total nerd. ;-)

**Chapter 6**

"Jim! What a pleasant surprise! How have you been?"

_She doesn't know yet._

Suddenly the sparkling blue eyes clouded with worry. "What's wrong? Has something happened to Spock?"

He pursed his lips, unsure of where to begin. "No, he's not injured if that's what you mean."

"Then what? I can tell something's happened. What is it?" A troubled frown creased Amanda's brow.

"I need some information; about a Vulcan discipline called Kolinahr."

"Why not ask Spock?"

He licked his lips nervously. "He resigned his commission effective immediately and unbeknownst to me left the ship two hours ago by long-range shuttle."

"And he's decided to go to Gol." He could see her reasoning it out. "To undergo the discipline of Kolinahr." Despite the grainy image on the viewer, he saw her go white, a hand fluttering at her throat. "Why would he do this? I thought he was happy on the _Enterprise_; with you. I was sure he'd finally found his place in the universe. I know your mission is almost over, but surely with your record the two of you would be reassigned together?" She hesitated slightly. "Unless one, or both of you, didn't want that."

He deftly sidestepped the question.

"I'm not fully aware of what that means, and there's very little information to be found in the ship's data base. Vulcans tend to guard their secrets closely." He should know – he'd sure as hell had enough firsthand experience with _that._

Amanda bit her lip. "Kolinahr is the Vulcan discipline in which all emotions are purged once and for all; the acolytes hope to achieve a state of pure logic, their thoughts and actions untainted by any emotional influence whatsoever." She hesitated, tears welling in her eyes. "It can also mean a complete break from his previous life. He may choose to end all future contact with his friends…and family."

Kirk blinked, stunned. _Spock, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to drive you to this. What the hell is wrong with me? Bones was right – I never should have doubted you._

"Why Jim?" Her voice wavered, the sound slicing through him like razor-sharp shards of glass. "Why would he do this? Separate himself totally from a career he loved; from his father; from me." Her eyes were haunted as she regarded him earnestly, her gaze heavy upon him.

He compressed his lips into a thin line, dropping his eyes, unable to meet that anguished stare. "There was an incident a few days ago; a crewman died as a result." He heard her sharp intake of breath.

Disinclined to provide complete details, he attempted to gloss over events. "Spock made a choice – a command decision – and as a result one life was saved and one lost."

"Did he make the wrong decision?"

"I'm not sure," he answered truthfully, "and Spock was reluctant to elaborate. That's part of the reason for my call. When you see him would you ask him to get in touch with me?"

"Oh, Jim." Deep sorrow in her voice. "If he has truly decided to become Kolinahru, then even his father and I will not see him again until he completes his training, and maybe even then not at all – it depends on what future path he decides to follow." A tear spilled from her eye, splashing the desk below.

"Then how can I contact him?" His tone was growing increasingly desperate, but he simply didn't care. "Can I get a message to him at Gol?"

"I'm afraid not. Once they have been accepted as an acolyte, no further communication is permitted with the people from their past until they have finished the process. Before they arrive at Gol they are encouraged to explain their choice to those closest to them in the form of a letter. In some cases, it is their final contact with their previous lives." She searched his face. "Didn't he leave a letter for you?"

Kirk swallowed uneasily. "Yes he did, but it didn't seem that final. I didn't realize that was the last contact I'd ever have with him." He turned defeated eyes to her. "Isn't there anything we can do? Some way to reach him?"

"None that I know of. Unless he decides to leave the discipline for some reason, or is unable to completely eradicate all emotions, the Spock we knew will cease to exist. Once he has gone through the teachings of Kolinahr he will be a completely different man from who he is now. The Spock we knew will be gone to us for good." She wiped at her face, the tears flowing freely now.

"I'm so sorry," he said helplessly. "If there's anything I can do…"

***

As the doors to the turbolift snapped open, his eyes were immediately drawn to the science station. Chekov was standing before the scanner, the blue light lending an unnatural cast to his complexion. He found the sight slightly unnerving. Just what did he expect, anyway? Intellectually he knew Spock was gone, but there was always that tiny glimmer of hope that he had somehow changed his mind, returned to the ship and was at his station as usual, lifting an eyebrow as if to say _Surely_ y_ou didn't believe I had walked away from you for good, did you?_

He shook his head to clear the image, working instead at quashing the unwarranted resentment he was feeling toward Chekov. _It sure as hell isn't his fault. If you want to be mad at someone, be mad at yourself_.

As he started for the center seat, many of the bridge crew turned, confusion expressed in their demeanor, the way they looked at him and glanced away suddenly, nervously. He wondered idly how much they really knew about the situation. But there also seemed to be a sense of disbelief to their silent inquiries, as if they themselves couldn't accept that their XO was truly gone, and were looking to him to confirm or deny the rumor. And judging by their reactions, they had gotten their answer.

He slipped into his seat, making the effort to ask his crew the proper questions, to offer them the proper instructions, but soon that was done, and he was once again lost in thought.

He was startled by a voice at his elbow. Glancing over, he saw Uhura had come down to the inner ring of the bridge and was speaking softly to him.

"Captain, are you all right?" She fidgeted slightly. "You look…tired, sir," she informed him, twirling a stylus nervously in her hands.

"It was a long night," he answered honestly, cryptically, not really looking at her.

"Sir, we were all very sorry to hear about Mr. Spock." His suspicions confirmed, he took some small satisfaction in the fact that the ship's grapevine seemed to be in excellent working condition. She continued tentatively. "I hope it wasn't due to a family emergency or some other personal issue."

It took every ounce of control he had not to laugh derisively at that. "No, nothing of that nature, Lieutenant." Finally turning his eyes to her he grinned at her reassuringly and watched the anxiety leave her face.

"We were just worried something terrible had happened," she said, her sweeping glance including the entire room in that statement. Several heads nodded in agreement, but otherwise an anomalous stillness had settled over the bridge, the only sounds the trills and clicks of machinery. She paused, and he watched her struggle to express herself. _My senior communications officer at a loss for words? _That spoke volumes. "Mr. Spock means a lot to us, sir – it's how we all feel."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." This was rapidly becoming unbearable.

They were interrupted by the sound of the boatswain's whistle.

"_Jim_." McCoy's voice sounded from the speaker in his chair.

"Bridge. Kirk here."

"_Can I see you in my office – it's important."_

He felt the palpable tension on the bridge rise another notch as all heads turned his way, their looks expectant, hopeful. He ignored them.

"On my way. Kirk out. Mr. Chekov you have the conn," he called as he mounted the steps to the upper level of the bridge, heading for the turbolift.

***

As the door to McCoy's office slid open he entered in a rush, beginning without preamble, "Is it Spock? Did he contact you?"

"Well, in a way. I came in here this morning and found this on my desk." He handed Kirk a small envelope, eerily similar to the one the captain had found.

Kirk snatched it from his hand, scanning the contents quickly.

"You need to get in touch with that man right away, Jim. This is a huge mistake, him leaving Starfleet and dismissing half of himself outright. You need to apologize for being a capricious, thick-headed ass and set things straight with Spock. Once you two are communicating, you can work out the rest of the issues between you. And let's not kid ourselves here – there _are_ issues that need to be addressed."

"Unfortunately, it's not that easy, Bones."

"And just what the hell is _that_ supposed to mean? Don't tell me you're having second thoughts? I think we both know you were in the wrong here."

"It's got nothing to do with me refusing to apologize. I spoke with Spock's mother a few hours ago and—"

"She called you? Is he at home? Did you talk to him?" For the first time since last night McCoy sounded hopeful.

"No, I called her, and she had no idea what was going on."

McCoy's face fell. "I see." He folded his arms across his chest, his pose belligerent, argumentative. "Well, when he gets home, you need to call and talk to him."

Kirk sat heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "He's not going home Bones."

"And just how do you know that?"

"I asked his mother about Kolinahr. She told me it's a discipline some Vulcans undergo as a means to purge all remaining emotion. They become the equivalent of monks on Earth, separating themselves completely from their former lives and personal associations while undergoing the ritual. Once they're done, most choose to reenter society, but a handful elect to stay on as Masters at Gol, either helping to train and teach future acolytes to attain Kolinahr or to continue to pursue total enlightenment." Kirk's eyes became distant, his voice heavy with emotion. "Regardless of his choice, we'll probably never see him again."

"What?! This just gets better and better by the minute." Uncharacteristically, McCoy was the one pacing the room. "Well, that'd be Spock's choice all right – trying to out-Vulcan all the other Vulcans, even if it kills him. That man never did know what was good for him," he muttered testily. The doctor passed a hand briefly over his face. "What a mess." He turned to face Kirk. "There must be some way to reach him."

"According to the Lady Amanda, that's not possible."

"And since when did 'that's not possible' become part of your vocabulary? Cash in some favors, use your influence. What good is it being a starship captain if you can't throw your weight around once in a while?" He tugged at his lip, snapping his fingers. "Ask T'Pau. I'll bet there's something she can do. And besides, after that wedding fiasco she owes you big time."

"And I also got the distinct impression that she didn't care for me very much, and was extremely disappointed with Spock for naming mere humans 'friends.'" Spock's words from their time on Triani Prime regarding their interspecies link and how it was viewed by other Vulcans flitted across his memory. He chafed at the thought. "I don't think we can count on any help from her or anyone on Vulcan, frankly."

"Well if there's anyone who can figure out a way to make it happen, it's you Jim." McCoy's eyes softened, along with his tone. "And you need to find a way to make this happen. Spock's come too far; he'd finally started to find himself. We can't let all of that be erased by a stupid misunderstanding like this."

***

He was tired beyond belief. He'd spent the last few days calling in every favor he was owed, and accruing some he would have to repay to boot, but to no avail. As he'd suspected, he got virtually no support from those on Vulcan who might have been able to make a difference, and he had been intentionally vague about the details when pressing prominent members of the Federation Council and high-ranking officials in Starfleet for assistance. Consequently, they were reluctant to get embroiled in what they viewed as strictly a cultural issue. The most he'd been able to accomplish was to secure a promise from the masters at Gol, granted in deference to the Lady Amanda's wishes, that they would make the taped message he sent available to Spock but they could not guarantee that he would view it, and he would not be permitted to respond to it.

He'd poured his heart and soul into that tape, unsure of how it would be received, but at this point he really didn't care – he had nothing left to lose. Everything he'd thought he'd ever wanted, plus a few things he hadn't expected or even begun to hope for, were now slipping through his fingers like so much space dust. Somehow, he'd failed to see the forest for the trees, and a wildfire was now tearing through that forest, leaving only ashes in its wake.

With all the time he'd had to reflect on recent events (sleep was proving to be quite elusive these days) he came to know that had their roles been reversed, he'd have done exactly the same thing. Maybe this whole thing between them was just too big for either of them to handle at the moment; Spock's letter confirmed that the Vulcan had already reached this conclusion, even if he himself had been slow on the uptake. Some distance between them was probably a good idea – give them some breathing room, some time to sort things out – but he didn't want it to happen at the expense of Spock's emotional well-being. His gut told him this was so wrong for Spock – the man had just started to come into his own, and now that side of himself that had finally been granted some limited expression would be irretrievably lost forever. Maybe he'd pushed too hard – Bones was always telling him he did – and now he had to own up to his undeniable part in this completely unforeseen turn of events. The entire situation was bizarrely surreal. He had single-handedly brought about his best friend's destruction. How could he even begin to live with that?

_Spock, please don't do this. If I'm the cause of this turmoil, this conflict within you then I'll go, but I can't bear the thought that I made you believe this act of desperation was the only choice left open to you._ He'd tried sending these feelings of deep sorrow and personal loss via the link, knowing all the while that the attempt was futile.

The loss of the link had proved to be more painful than he'd possibly imagined. There had been times in the past when each of them had severely limited the mental contact between them for whatever reason, but the other's presence, comforting, reassuring, had never disappeared completely. But now, much to his dismay, Spock's presence was totally absent from his mind – a state he hadn't experienced in over two years. He used to think he knew what it meant to be totally alone, but he'd been wrong. Nothing could have prepared him for this profound sense of emptiness, or loss. He wondered if Spock felt it, too or was simply relieved to have the emotional human feelings purged once and for all from his mind.

McCoy had given him some of those red pills, promising him they'd make him sleep. He swallowed three and lay down on the bed, praying for oblivion to take him, to release him from this unbearable pain.

***

"I've made up my mind, Jim – I need to go. I've seen way too much death and destruction out here; too many young lives, so full of potential, cut short all in the name of progress, of peaceful coexistence. We like to think that we humans are better than the Romulans; that we have more respect for life than the Klingons, but we've seen that that's not always the case. And I've seen quite enough of the ugliness man does to his fellow man; being to his fellow being, and each time I see it it takes something out of me. A little piece of me dies every time I bear witness to it and soon there won't be anything left of me. Starship duty does something to a man like me; stay with it long enough and it can desensitize you to all that's wrong in the galaxy."

They were a day out from their triumphant return to Earth, their historic mission nearing completion, when McCoy had called Kirk to his quarters. A few days ago, Kirk had discussed his plan with McCoy to finagle another deep-space command, and had asked – practically begged – the surgeon to agree to sign on as his CMO.

McCoy sighed heavily, taking a deep pull from his glass. "I never thought I'd say this out loud, least of all to you, but I really liked that stubborn, pointed-eared hobgoblin in a roundabout, disquieting, unnerving sort of way, and in spite of all the grief I gave the man, I never wanted to see him hurt. And frankly, I was blown away by the fact that this profession, the rigors of this life caused the undoing of everything you and Spock had become to each other. It destroyed you; used you, took all you had to give to each other and turned it against you; chewed it up and spat out the broken pieces. If I stay and this happens to you and me, too, I'd never be able to forgive myself."

Kirk toyed with his own drink, remaining strangely silent. He was drained, spent, standing on the precipice. One more thing and he would surely break. He felt the knife twist a little more, the blade slide in a little deeper, but it didn't matter. _There's not much more that can be done to me at this point. I've already lost everything, everyone that was worth fighting for..._

The sound of McCoy's voice gradually filtered back into his stream of consciousness. "—I just can't take it anymore; I'm done in, finished, at my wit's end. I need to get away from all this senseless death and destruction and slavish devotion to duty and take stock of my life. Maybe my outlook will change with some distance, maybe it won't, but if I don't get the hell out it'll wind up destroying me just like it did you and Spock." He searched Kirk's face, apology and finality vying with each other. "Can you understand that, Jim? Of all the poor choices I've made over the years – and there have been quite a few – staying here would by far be the worst." Softly; the blue eyes moist, penitent. "I'm sorry Jim, it's just not in me to sign on again."

The pain those words evoked was beyond excruciating and yet, he couldn't find it within himself to argue. One close friend was irreparably lost to him now; he didn't think he could bear losing another one in any way, shape or form. "It's okay, Bones, I won't try to stop you. You do what you feel you must, and I'll do the same."

McCoy glanced sharply at him.

Kirk read the question in McCoy's eyes. Maybe the doctor did have an inkling of just what this was costing him. He tried to downplay it.

"Don't worry Bones – I'm not planning on offing myself or doing anything drastic. I'm surprised such a thought would even cross your mind." He flashed his most charming smile and watched the tenseness in the doctor's features slowly dissolve away. _But am I being entirely truthful? Can you call what I'm planning to do _drastic_? _

He continued, his voice light, easy. "It just means that maybe you're right, and I need a break from all of this, too."

"And just how do you propose to do that? Being a starship captain is your life."

"I used to think so, too but I've come to realize that there are other things that are much more important." He stopped abruptly, McCoy obviously waiting for further explanation. But he chose to go a different route.

"Maybe I need a change of venue as well. I could always accept a teaching position at the Academy, or go back to the farm. Peter's getting older and he won't be there forever. Mom could use the help."

McCoy scoffed. "You can't be serious?" he said in total disbelief. "As much as this life is a poor fit for me, it's the perfect fit for you. If I leave, I'll find myself. If you leave, you'll lose yourself." His gaze had turned desperate, beseeching, as had his tone. "Promise me you won't leave, Jim. You've lost quite enough already. Follow through with your plan to get another deep space command. In the end, that's what will be healing for you. I'm not sure you'd survive losing your ship, your freedom to travel the stars, on top of everything else. I've already watched one close friend destroy himself; I don't think I can handle seeing another one do the same."

***

He had left McCoy in the doctor's quarters hours ago, putting the extremely drunk surgeon to bed before making his way back to his own cabin, but although he had consumed an additional half bottle of Saurian brandy since returning to his room, sobriety dogged him like a Rigellian bounty hunter.

How could it possibly have come to this? A year ago, he had everything he'd ever wanted in his life: Command of a starship, the vessel and her crew the finest in the fleet. His lifelong dream of exploring the galaxy, of being at the forefront of first contact with alien species and opening up new realms of possibility for the Federation, had been realized. And yet in the midst of all this, he can been given a totally unexpected gift: The respect, admiration and most importantly the friendship of two extraordinary men. True, in the beginning their relationships had been rocky; he had not cared for either very much. McCoy was undisciplined, cranky and given to fits of rage about the most ridiculous things at the most inopportune times. He often took his job as CMO too seriously, and had no trouble at all throwing his medical weight around. Kirk had been sure he'd never be able to work with the man, let alone like him.

And then there was his Vulcan First Officer. Somber, cold, calculating. In the early days of his captaincy he had felt he was constantly being weighed, measured, assessed by those dark eyes. His style of command constantly compared to that of Spock's former CO, and to his mind the Vulcan had found him lacking.

But Chris Pike had had only good things to say about his new, enigmatic first officer, assuring Kirk that if he could win the man's loyalty, the man's trust, Spock would prove to be an asset Kirk would find he couldn't do without.

He had scoffed inwardly at those words. How on Earth could he, a man who for the most part operated on instinct, intuition, and could at times be emotional and selfishly, blatantly hedonistic ever find common ground with the austere, unfeeling, logical Vulcan who only saw things in black and white? Shades of gray never entered the realm of possibility for the man, whereas Kirk lived his life in shades of gray, with the occasional splash of color thrown in for good measure. It seemed an insurmountable obstacle.

In spite of these differences Spock was his First Officer and for the ship to function smoothly they had to establish a good working relationship. In the interest of his ship he had tried to engage the man, finding they had a common interest in chess, literature and the martial arts. Much to his surprise he quickly discovered that Spock was not as unfeeling, as unemotional as he claimed to be. To his delight, he found that the Vulcan had a keen, albeit subdued sense of humor, and seemed to take particular satisfaction in tormenting McCoy of all people.

And there was no denying that they worked well together; that there was a mystical chemistry between them that seemed to draw out the best attributes in each of them. He soon found himself seeking out the Vulcan's company during off-duty hours, and while he initially believed Spock only accepted his invitations for chess, workouts and shared meals due to the fact that it was his captain asking it of him, he quickly realized that the Vulcan seemed to enjoy his company as well.

Dark eyes which at first glance had seemed bottomless, unfathomable, gradually became windows into the man's soul, and before long he found everything he needed to know about Spock was written there, it was just a matter of being able to properly decipher the code.

He began to rely on Spock more and more, the man's rational, pragmatic approach to things a good counterbalance for his impetuous, shrewd, emotionally-driven personality.

But that only represented two sides to the triangle, and he was shocked when McCoy unexpectedly became the third side, balancing the logic and impulsiveness with his own quirky brand of caution and compassion.

Although they had met briefly years before, he and the doctor had tiptoed carefully around each other during McCoy's first few weeks as his CMO. Each worked at feeling the other out, testing, seeing how far they could push before the other flinched and pushed back. Kirk soon came to know that McCoy's gruff, crabby exterior hid the most gentle of souls. For all his grousing and complaining, Kirk never ceased to be awed by the sheer amount of compassion the man exhibited – whether it was when caring for a sick or injured crewman or dealing with a member of a totally alien species, McCoy could not bear to see anyone suffering or in pain. These traits made him an excellent physician, but also served to help temper Kirk's judgment when dealing with difficult and unpredictable situations.

When had these two men managed to get by all his defenses, to become such an integral part of his being? He could hardly remember a time when he had not counted on their sound advice and unwavering support – maybe not always where his policies were concerned, but the support for him as a person was never in doubt. He came to realize that while all his life he had thought what mattered most to him was getting a ship of his own, it somehow paled in comparison, had little meaning whatsoever, if he couldn't share that with these two men. For close to five years the three of them had been a team, a tightly-knit cohesive unit, and in a matter of days that team had been hopelessly fractured beyond his ability to repair it. His life, as he had come to know it, would never be the same again.

He read once again the glowing words on the monitor:

_To: Nogura, Heihachiro, Admiral, Starfleet Command_

_From: Kirk, James T., Captain, USS Enterprise_

_Subject: Regarding promotion_

_Admiral,_

_After much careful deliberation I have decided to accept the promotion to rear admiral and the subsequent posting as Chief of Starfleet Operations effective immediately on our return to Earth._

_This represents a serious departure from my previous career path, but I am greatly looking forward to the challenges and new experiences which are sure to result from this unique position._

_Respectfully,_

_James T. Kirk_

He scrubbed at his face, burying his head in his hands. Taking a deep, cleansing breath he lifted his chin defiantly, resolutely, downing his drink. He closed his eyes and hit 'send,' resigned to his fate, the world in which he now lived disappearing into the dark, silent void of subspace along with the words on the screen…

FINIS

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I have always liked this song, but heard it while in the midst of writing this story, and it took on a whole new connotation…

**Against All Odds by Phil Collins**

How can I just let you walk away?  
Just let you leave without a trace?  
When I stand here taking every breath with you?  
You're the only one who really knew me at all.

How can you just walk away from me?  
When all I can do is watch you leave?  
'Cause we've shared the laughter and the pain  
We've even shared the tears.  
You're the only one who really knew me at all.

So take a look at me now,  
Well there's just an empty space.  
And there's nothing left here to remind me,  
Just the memory of your face

Ooh take a look at me now,  
Well there's just an empty space,  
And you coming back to me is against the odds  
And that's what I've got to face.

I wish I could just make you turn around,  
Turn around and see me cry.  
There's so much I need to say to you,  
So many reasons why.  
You're the only one who really knew me at all.

So take a look at me now,  
Well there's just an empty space.  
And there's nothing left here to remind me,  
Just the memory of your face.

Now take a look at me now,  
'Cause there's just an empty space,  
But to wait for you is all I can do  
And that's what I've got to face.

Take a good look at me now,  
'Cause I'll still be standing here.  
And you coming back to me is against all odds,  
It's the chance I've gotta take…

Take a look at me now…

This song and 'Afterglow' are both on You Tube, if anyone cares to listen to them. ;-)


End file.
